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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555476">Adieu</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo'>HeartlessMemo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>What We Do in the Shadows (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood Drinking, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Jack the Ripper Murders, Murder, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Reader dies, Reader is eaten by Laszlo, Reader-Insert, Serial Killers, That's it, that's the fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:53:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yum yum! Aren’t you a scrumptious morsel?” the vampire trills melodically, his blood stained lips tickling the shell of your ear. “Runner’s high they call it, don’t they? I say, I could get used to this…”</p>
<p>You are a meal for Laszlo Cravensworth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Laszlo Cravensworth/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Adieu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <b>NOTE: The READER character DIES in this fic.</b>
</p>
<p>This is dark and deeply cursed. Wow. If you enjoy this fic I would worship you for commenting! Bon Appetit!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You shouldn’t run after dark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You shouldn’t run while listening to your headphones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You shouldn’t run alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blah, blah, blah.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’ve listened to as many true crime podcasts as the next thirty-something, but this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> park. You know every nook and cranny, every turning of the trail, every faulty street light. This is your safe place. Your place to let the stresses of a long day at work fall behind you, left in your dust as you bounce on the balls of your feet, nearly flying on the chilly night wind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fucking fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yum yum! Aren’t you a scrumptious morsel?” the vampire trills melodically, his blood stained lips tickling the shell of your ear. “Runner’s high they call it, don’t they? I say, I could get used to this…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your neck feels cold and wet. He’s cradling your head almost gently, but his other arm is wrapped in a crushing grip around your torso, pinning you painfully to his chest. A low moan dribbles from your lips, your eyes flutter; you’re so weak. Something hard presses into your back, rubbing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Darling mortal,” he growls. Lights dance in your vision but his voice casts a deep red shadow over everything. “You remind me of Whitechapel. Those squirming tarts, their rouged lips…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leans down and plants his mouth on yours, painting your lips a lurid, gruesome scarlet. The kiss feels far away. It’s like you’re watching it happen from the end of a dark tunnel. There’s the vaguest impression of slippery lips, scratchy whiskers and a probing tongue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do say ‘hi’ to Polly for me when you see her…” His voice shoots through the cold air of the tunnel. Each word pierces the darkness--sharp, crimson spears--striking your ear drums separately. You taste the words on the back of your tongue, swallowing them down. They bloom in your stomach, expanding and carrying you away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Laszlo drops the cadaver onto the frosted grass. He gives it a kick, halfheartedly concealing it under a bush. As if he gives a fuck about hiding the evidence. The starlight reflects in its unseeing eyes and he’s seized by the poetic urge to cut, rearrange, and transform. But it passes. It’s been over a hundred years since all that and the thrill of shocking the general public has faded. Besides--his pornography is far more fulfilling and he can watch that over and over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a moment to admire his work. The blood smeared over its lips almost makes it appear to smile at him. Laszlo tips his cap and murmurs a fond “adieu” before going on his way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The skin tone is fading, losing its luster already, blending with the pale winter grass. The sky overhead is a thick cotton-wadding of storm clouds and a single snowflake lights on a lifeless cheek as, over the rising wind, a voice is heard yelling, “BAT!”</span>
</p>
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